


glass-bottomed ego

by singlemalter



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Depression, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/pseuds/singlemalter
Summary: Items from theBeck Depression Inventory.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	glass-bottomed ego

  1. I am sad all the time.

There used to be moments of respite, breaths of fresh air despite the cloud over his head. These days, though, he can’t catch a break.

It comes suddenly—a heavy pressure siphoning every last bit of joy from his heart—halfway through a fancy foreign movie Charlotte had asked him to watch. It’s an enjoyable film. Some bits get a surprised laugh out of him.

Yet he’s still so damn unhappy. 

  1. I do not expect things to work out for me.

He stares at the contract in front of him and struggles to smile. The team wants a picture—not for posting, they say, but to keep as a record, a happy memory.

It’s difficult to pretend he’s brimming with joy when a voice in the back of his mind tells him his efforts will never amount to anything. 

  1. I feel I am a total failure as a person.

“I know why you did what you did,” Giada says. “But it doesn’t make it okay, Charles. That’s why I’m hurt.” 

“I know,” he murmurs. This conversation is easier over the phone. It’s still the hardest thing he’s ever done. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not,” she says. “Charles, I know you’re not. You have so many problems, and it’s just… you hurt me because you’re not okay. You don’t feel guilty at all. But you need to know it’s not fair for you to do that, and act like it.”

He doesn’t argue back. She’s right—he’s a liar and a hypocrite, running on fumes to try to fill an empty spot in his soul, and he’s never felt as thoroughly exposed as this. 

  1. I don’t enjoy things as much as I used to. 

Racing no longer fuels him like before.

He chases more thrills, flies across the world to Dubai, meets fans in Maranello, spends more time in the gym, goes over the limits of his diet, goes to interesting exhibits in Paris.

It’s like trying to squeeze blood from a stone.

  1. I feel guilty all of the time.

Survivor’s guilt is unwarranted. He knows this.

But it doesn’t keep him from waking up in a cold sweat, thinking, _it should’ve been me_.

  1. I feel I am being punished.

They’re gone.

People keep leaving him, and he wants to know _why_. He deserves it, he knows as much—but what’s making everyone give up on him?

Is it the constant lying? The absence from most gatherings his friends invite him to? The cheating? The bursts of anger that come from nowhere and end in isolation?

He guesses he’ll never know.

  1. I dislike myself.

The man in the mirror is a coward.

Charles hates him. 

  1. I criticise myself for all of my faults.

It’s not that he blames himself too often—he just makes too many stupid mistakes to simply sweep them under the rug. So he cradles his own head and screams, talks to himself with that wheedling tone, _come on, Charles, you should be better than this, Charles_.

  1. I would kill myself if I had the chance.

Suicide is a terrifying thought, but he’s entertained it more than he’d like to admit.

Sometimes, while he’s driving on nothing but pure reflex, with no one in sight, he considers speeding into the barriers. Nobody would know why, but perhaps he’d be free from the brutal nothingness looming over him.

  1. I feel like crying, but I can’t.

After the breakup, he wants to sob his heart out. Pierre, bless his heart, asks if he wants to watch a sad movie, tub of ice cream included.

Charles tries, he really does, but there’s too much void inside him to make room for any tears.

  1. I am so restless or agitated that I have to keep moving or doing something.

Switch gears. Flat out down the autoroute. Tap fingers to the rhythm of the song blaring from the radio. 

Maybe once he’s in Bordeaux, he’ll finally be able to rest.

  1. I have lost most of my interest in other people or things.

“So Cate, you won’t believe this, she asked if he was the _real_ Gasly, and he actually said yes,” Pierre recounts. “It’s crazy that he didn’t even recognise her! I mean, if he went and saved all those pictures of me, he should’ve seen her, right?”

Meanwhile, Charles stares blankly at a spot on the wall behind him, too deep in thought to say anything. 

As much as Charles wants to care about Pierre’s catfish-catching adventures, it’s like boredom is embedded into the deepest bits of himself, taking away his enjoyment of anything at all, and all he can do is nod and smile when he deems it appropriate. 

  1. I have trouble making any decisions.

Waiters, saleswomen, the engineers back in Maranello—they all hate him.

“I don’t know,” he says over and over. “What do you think is the best option?”

  1. I feel utterly worthless.

He knows he hadn’t had much of a chance in the first place.

Still, when he crosses the line in third and Xavi says, _you finished P4 in the championship_, an ugly mix of shame and anger burns inside him. 

  1. I don’t have enough energy to do very much.

As soon as he walks through the door of his apartment, he falls gracelessly onto the couch, still in his team gear, and sleeps.

The next day is a blurry haze. Maybe he has breakfast, maybe he doesn’t; his memory fails him. 

  1. I sleep most of the day.

Despite the two alarms he’d set and a flurry of texts from ever-worried Pierre, he sleeps through the entire afternoon. 

By the time he wakes up from his nap, it’s dark outside.

He goes to bed at seven in the morning, when the sound of daily life starts filtering through his drawn curtains, and doesn’t get up until his stomach aches with hunger. 

  1. I am irritable all the time.

He’s dealt with anger issues all his life, but he’s never been as prickly as he is nowadays.

It’s a real issue when Lorenzo tells him to _stop acting so flippant_ and all he can say is _fuck off_.

  1. I have no appetite at all.

Food is always a nice treat.

Or it used to be. He shoves a forkful of Daniel’s crab cake inside his mouth, chews it as long as possible, and feels like throwing up as soon as he swallows.

Lately, he’s always full, even without eating anything at all during the day.

  1. I find I can’t concentrate on anything.

“Charles, are you listening?”

He blinks. Everything comes into focus. On the other end of the table, Mattia’s angry, frowning at him as though he wants to kick him out of the room.

“Yes, yes, I’m okay,” he says. “I just need to drink some water. Excuse me.”

  1. I am too tired or fatigued to do most of the things I used to do.

He considers running outside. He considers inviting his girlfriend over. He considers karting with Pierre. He even considers checking if Daniel’s back from Australia, maybe they could grab a drink together?

In the end, he stays under the covers, scrolling through his Instagram messages. 

  1. I am much less interested in sex now.

“Honey,” Charlotte whispers, sweet as always, and wraps her arms around his waist. “Wake up.”

He knows, even with his eyes closed, she must look beautiful. Hair down, dark lingerie, and _wanting_. Deep down, he wants to want her, too. He knows she deserves it. 

He shifts slightly and pretends to be asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Items from the [Beck Depression Inventory](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beck_Depression_Inventory).


End file.
